Wild Rose
by Not That Girl
Summary: PG because it's kind of really sad, maybe really upsetting for some people. An slightly eccentric story about a girl chosen to be Queen.
1. Prologue

Wild Rose  
  
Briar Rose, my name is, but it's Wild Rose that I'm called. Wild Rose. Even as I write this, I cannot help but think of the cold, hard, stone keep where I spent so long. Then, as the sunlight falls across my shoulders in a golden cloak, as I hear the birds trilling outside my window, I remember how beautiful the world is, and the cold city fades from my mind. But what they did to me, what they did to Briar Rose, that can never fade. Sometimes I wake at night, cold and sweating, from nightmares of that city by the mountain. Lark used to come into my room, stand beside me and whisper calm reassurances to me, until I slept again. Now Lark has her little one to mind, and she can't come. Memories of her soothe me now. So many memories, good and bad, of the life of a little country girl named Wild Rose.  
  
These are the memories which give life, now and forever. For we are everything that's happened to us. 


	2. Part I

PART I  
  
Wild Rose was six the year King Elessar was crowned. She remembered that day very clearly, no matter how long passed. That was the first day she had seen anyone from outside of her tight-knit community. For many, it had been. People rarely left their little isle. They had no reason to -- it was lovely there. The wild roses bloomed everywhere in the summers. Birdcalls echoed through the trees and over meadows. Sunlight was more solid there than anywhere else. In all of Middle-Earth, nowhere was the sunlight so full of intentions and magic.  
Or so the herald said, when he came to the Isle, as all who dwelt there called it. The Isle was a little bit of land of the coast of Gondor. It was just a few leagues north of the Bay of Belfalas, but many leagues away from the mainland. It had taken much searching for the herald and his ship to find.  
The herald himself was a more intimidating person than Wild Rose had ever seen. He was tall, for one thing. For another, he was paler. The residents of the Isle spent almost all of their time outdoors. Even in winter, which was rather harsh, you could step out your front door and see someone coming up a lane or down a path that-a-way.  
"His majesty, King Elessar of Gondor and Arnor, decrees that all who dwell within his realms be told as soon as possible of his taking of the throne, and that...." the herald droned. Wild Rose was sure that the grown- ups were interested in this man's talk, but she wasn't. Even his forceful presence had worn off the little girl when she realized that he wasn't staying. If he was going to, she would have made friends with him, or tried to at least. Many thought she was the most amiable girl they had ever met; and most of the adults in the Isle had known quite a lot of people.  
"Briar," said a girl next to her, her best friend, Lark. All Wild Rose's friends and most other people, too, called her Briar, which was short for her real name, Briar Rose. For she was stubborn as a briar, her mother said.  
"Briar," said Lark again. "Wanna come with me? I'm going to pick berries."  
"Yeah!" whispered Briar, glad to get away from the boring man and his boring speech.  
The two little girls left, Wild Rose shaking her thick reddish blonde hair away from her face. They had just begun to think that they had gotten away safely when a rough hand grabbed Briar's arm. Her eyes widened as she looked up into a face every bit as rough as the hand.  
"What is this place?" the man asked. Briar and Lark were both frightened nearly to death by this strange man, who dared to talk Briar.  
"The Isle," Wild Rose managed to squeak.  
"What Isle?"  
"Just the Isle!"  
"It's just the Isle!" screeched Lark, enraged. Forgetting that she was just a little girl and this a full-grown man, she ran forward and kicked him, hard.  
Wild Rose, encouraged by her friend's loyalty, tried to squirm free, and, when the grip held, bit the man (who was laughing at Lark) hard. The man stopped laughing and would have taken a swipe at them both -- but for his laughing friend, who pulled him away.  
Briar and Lark were both deeply shaken by this incident. As they picked the very fresh, very delicious raspberries that grew just outside their little town, they thought about it. Neither of them had ever had to lie like that before. And neither of them even knew what they were lying for.  
Their Isle, it wasn't just 'the Isle," it was the Isle of the Young. For some reason, their parents and relatives and friends' parents parents and everyone else didn't want anyone from "somewhere else," as it was put, to know that. The little girls didn't understand why. But somehow, just then, the question that would plague them until they were grown didn't seem so bad. Sunlight settled over them like a lovely blanket, hiding them from troubles. They ate their fresh raspberries and relaxed, somehow, as if the earth and the berries and the wild roses growing nearby all seemed to want their daughters to be at peace. 


	3. Part II

PART II  
  
She was seven when King Elessar came to visit the Isle and its denizens. She remembered that time as well; for though she only saw the king for a minute at most, he was -- well, different from the herald. King Elessar was more like the people she knew, tanned and weathered, used to being outdoors. Seeing him riding through the little town, Wild Rose was awed by the finery that surrounded him. "He looks kingly," she whispered to Lark. "He looks like someone like us but more royal."  
Lark, awed, could only nod in agreement, eyes shining with admiration.  
King Elessar saw Briar Rose and Lark, staring at the finery they could never hope to own; and his heart softened. He would ever remember those two little girls, one blonde with eyes that glittered emerald green in the daylight, the other strawberry-blonde with dark eyes that shimmered with wild things, a forest, a bird, a fiery spirit that was her own, and a wild rose. He could not say what had so strongly reminded him of these things in her eyes, but they did.  
For days after Elessar came, the only thing Lark could talk of was how beautiful it all was, and Wild Rose saw the king whenever she closed her eyes. The last thing she saw before she went to sleep was the king, all alone on his majestic horse, and then they would become nightmares where she was the one all alone on horse, and in her nightmares, she would be the only one for miles and miles, just her and her horse, no birds or trees or flowers or sunlight. It was weeks before those nightmares passed, and then she was so grateful that they were gone she could hardly sleep.  
That summer, strawberries were bountiful, and Briar loved to eat them fresh-picked. She would go, alone except for a bird or two and maybe a butterfly, to sit by the strawberries and watch the sunlight play in shafts between the trees. That was when Briar felt most alive; those days just before her eighth birthday, when she could just lay in the sun and do nothing but be herself. Those were golden days.  
  
Days always seemed golden for Wild Rose in the summer. 


	4. Part III

PART III  
  
Briar was swimming with Lark when the king died. The water was still rather chilly, but close to the Isle it wasn't so bad. At least wasn't frozen. They had been diving under and coming up and having a merry good time when the water, agitated, began to murmur underneath them. They dove once more, but the sound was no clearer at the bottom than it was at the top. They swam closer to the shore and stood, anxiously wondering what was wrong.  
Then small whispers reached their waiting ears. "The king is dead," sighed the water. "The king is dead."  
Lark and Wild Rose glanced at each other. Both knew this water, and they both knew that it wasn't fond of many people, unlike the little pond in the center of the Isle. But it sounded grieved at the death of Elessar.  
"What? He's dead???" exclaimed Lark. "But it's only been -- what, ten years since he was crowned!"  
Wild Rose had to admit she had a point. Then she remembered something. "Time passes differently on the Mainland, remember? It's only been ten years here, but it's been longer for them."  
"Yeah... It's been how many years?"  
Briar smiled. "Lark, you know I can't do that much math!"  
The two friends smiled at each other for a few moments before the disturbed water informed them they should go tell the others.  
"Alright, alright already!" said Wild Rose. "You really don't like me, do you?" she asked the water quietly.  
The girls climbed out of the water and dried themselves off before heading towards the village. Wild Rose knew that they would know of the king's death by now, for the land underneath them and trees around them and the very air they breathed mourned his passing.  
So easy, thought Briar as they walked. It would be so easy to slip into this sorrow around them, to let yourself go, to simply mourn the man alone on his horse.  
But of course, they wouldn't. They had to live, and to celebrate his reign. But to those on the Isle, his reign had been a short one. They hadn't had much news of his deeds; the outside world didn't bother them, and, for the most part, they didn't bother it. When the outside world needed help desperately, though, they would help. A contingent of Islanders had fought beside Gil-galad and watched Islidur take the Ring. This War of the Ring, though, they hadn't fought in that. They had given aid to the wounded, but not fought.  
Wild Rose had been nearly six when the war had begun. She didn't remember any of it, though she remembered the herald who told of the king. She thought of that day, so long ago, as she entered the town. She had been so little then... Her main thoughts had been of raspberries.  
"Wild Rose, Wild Rose!" her sister, Ashling, cried, running toward her. "The king is dead!"  
The town took up the cry. "The king is dead!" they called, in one voice, one terrible voice.  
He had been little known to them, but he had been the first king in anyone's memory; there had been kings before him, but so long ago that no one could recall the last king of Gondor.  
Lark began to weep, as the land and the air and the water, and all the creatures who dwell in them, wept for the dead king. Wild Rose wasn't one to cry, particularly, yet she almost did just then. Not because the king had meant anything much to her, but rather because all he had meant something to all the things she loved.  
She hugged her sobbing sister, trying to provide all the comfort she could, recognizing it wasn't much.  
Briar was the comforter then. Little did she know that in a few days, she would be the one in need of comfort.  
  
The Isle recovered fairly quickly from its sorrow. Keening wails changed to wild shouts of celebration. Everyone seemed to be happy about something, and the veils of sunlight over Briar Rose and Lark sometimes leapt away to dance between the trees.  
One day, not too long after Elessar's death, a ship sailing the flag of Gondor landed on the coast. The people gathered in the town square to hear -- and maybe see -- what was happening. Another herald? Another king?  
As it turned out, both were right. A herald came on the ship to tell of the unfortunate demise of King Elessar, and the taking of the throne his son and heir, His Majesty the King Eldarion of Gondor and Arnor. His Majesty the King Eldarion of Gondor and Arnor had come all the way out here to see them.  
Eldarion rode through the town, as his father had, but Eldarion seemed much more at home than Elessar had. He stopped his horse occasionally to ask something of a bewildered villager. Then he saw Lark and Briar Rose, staring at the finery they could never hope to own, just as they had stared at his father's. And, as his father saw, Eldarion saw two seventeen-year- olds, looking and looking to imprint this on their memory. One was blonde, with shining emerald-green eyes, lovely but a country girl. Beside her was another, with strawberry-blonde hair and dusky eyes. Behind those eyes shimmered an array of wild things: a forest, a majestic eagle, her own fiery spirit, and a briar rose.  
He stopped before these two and addressed the one with the wild eyes. "Who are you?"  
"Wild Rose," she said tentatively.  
"Rose. That's a pretty name." Lark, protective as always, informed him loudly, "Wild Rose. Not Rose. Her name is Wild Rose!"  
King Eldarion laughed scornfully. The fire, the spirit that Elessar had seen so vividly, jumped to Briar's eyes, and she knew she would always hate this man. "How dare you laugh," she hissed.  
"Wild Rose," he said, contemptfully emphasizing the words, "I would like to talk with you some more."  
Wild Rose immediately began to eye possible escape routes. Lark's expression said she would cover for her friend if Briar chose to run.  
Eldarion reached out to help Briar onto his horse. Wild Rose turned and ran.  
Wild Rose was a fast girl, and could cover much ground quickly. She ran as fast as could just then, the wind urging her on. Unlike the sea, the wind liked Wild Rose very much. She could hear Lark yelling at the king, the protestful neighs of his horse, the shouts of Eldarion as he tried to get past Lark. Then she heard a more triumphant shout and Lark, calling on the wind "Briar, Briar, he's past me!"  
Briar ran and ran, until she was panting for breath, almost exhausted. She paused for a moment, before the sound of hoofbeats was right behind her. Dazed at his speed, she clambered up a tree and sat there for a few moments, gathering her breath and quieting it, and suddenly Eldarion was there.  
"Majesty," huffed a man, on foot, behind him. "I don't think she's here, Majesty."  
"You're right," said Eldarion. He left abruptly. The man on foot gave her tree a pained glance before departing with him.  
When she was sure they were gone, Wild Rose crept carefully back to her cottage, only to hear her father shouting. Eldarion's voice replied calmly, "Good sir, I'm sure you can understand this."  
Her mother answered this time, with a despairing, "How could we understand this?"  
"Kind lady, don't you want your daughter to live her life happily, surrounded by wealth and well-wishers?"  
"She is surrounded by wealth greater than you could ever imagine!" her father roared.  
"What you say doesn't make any sense." That was her mother, quietly. "How could one live, shut in a city of stone, and be happy?"  
Eldarion answered. Wild Rose didn't hear him. The argument raged back and forth, back and forth, and Briar Rose didn't hear any of it. To live in a city of stone! The worst fate she could imagine! Her mother was right: she would be unhappy there, for just as she would be surrounded by wealth, so she would be surrounded by hard cold carved rock.  
She began to cry, almost silent, the only things noticing her tears the still dusk air, and later, the starlight.  
  
A/N: Yes, this is depressing. I know. I'm sorry if I have made you unduly sad. Jade Limill: I updated! Thank you! ( 


End file.
